


Tumbling Down

by DarkAngelBK201



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, I don't write nice things, Minor Character Death, Torture, this is why I don't write people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 00:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngelBK201/pseuds/DarkAngelBK201
Summary: Getting killed was something that Lance was prepared for. But getting captured? He wasn’t prepared for that at all… (Non-main character death, torture, blood)A "Lance gets captured" fic





	Tumbling Down

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kinda new to the fandom so hey! I was bored one day and I watched wayyy too many AMVs and then I listened to "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Lorde on repeat far too much, which kinda inspired this story. For the full effect, listen to that song while reading, but it's good as a stand alone too. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Blue thrummed weakly beneath Lance’s palms, the controls still grasped firmly in his hands. Even with the view screen flickering and pulsing with static, he could glimpse the red-hot bursts of explosions mixed with rainbow colored flashes that streaked across the whole length of the screen. His lion rumbled with each blast, jostling him in his seat. If he focused enough, he probably could make out the concerned cries of his teammates, each begging for him to respond.

Lance knew it was useless. Blue was too damaged to move. It was just a countdown right now… He could almost hear the clock ticking in the background, each tick bringing him closer to the end.

Releasing a breath, Lance closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Blood streaked down his face from his temple, the languid trail nearly hidden by his helmet. Blue gave a worried rumble, but he soothed her with a gentle squeeze of her controls.

It was almost over.

An explosion rocked his lion, sending them both reeling in the opposite direction. Lance’s head smacked against one of Blue’s walls, his body going limp. The lights in the cockpit flickered out, darkness spilling over him. The alarms going off cut with the lights, giving way to the loud ringing in his ears. His vision slowly faded to black, almost as an afterthought. A small smile twitched at his lips, letting himself go without fear.

Everything would be fine… He knew it would.

* * *

Lance groaned as he arose to consciousness, his head throbbing fiercely. One of his hands lifted to gingerly prod at his temples, trying to ease the ache. He winced when he touched a swollen lump, his fingers coming away sticky when he pulled back. His eyes drifted open, bringing his hand down to study it. Crimson blood smeared across his fingertips, shimmering slightly in the dim light. His hand dropping back to his stomach, he groaned again, this time in frustration, as his memories slowly returned.

He wasn’t dead.

That…probably wasn’t a good thing.

Sitting up slowly, he looked around. The room was poorly lit, the only light spilling through the barred doorway, bringing a subtle violet glow to the enclosed space. Sighing heavily, he squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand through his hair. A glance down at himself only confirmed his suspicions. Prisoner’s garb, more specifically Galra prison garb. He didn’t know where his armor had gone, but frankly, he had bigger things to worry about right now.

Mentally, he erased his earlier assessment of ‘not good’ and changed it to ‘fucked’.

* * *

Lance paced, his limbs twitchy and restless. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in here. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but it had been long enough for his head to stop bleeding and the throbbing pain to lower to a more manageable level. He chalked his chances of rescue at pretty low, knowing that the others wouldn’t risk barging in here if it was too dangerous. Which is probably was.

He was a paladin of Voltron for quiznack’s sake. There was probably more guards here than anyone knew what to do with.

He didn’t see how this could get any…

His stomach rumbled quietly, making him freeze in place and glance down at the offending organ.

And now he was hungry…great…

* * *

Lance jerked awake to the sound of heavy footsteps and the loud grind of the door pulling open, his eyes flashing open in an instant. His body tense, he watched the shadowed figure in his doorway slowly approach, revealing a Galra guard. Well…at least it wasn’t Zarkon himself. “You know, for a supposedly advanced race, I’d think you guys would have better doors. Am in the old prison? Or is that just for aesthetics?” Lance drawled, unable to help himself.

The Galra made no indication that they heard him, only a slight twitch of their eye showing they heard him at all. “Ah, so I am right. This is an old-” Lance was cut off when the guard grabbed him by the arm and hauled him up, drawing a yelp from his lips. “Hey! Go easy! I’m much more delicate than I look! All have you know, I am a very important prisoner!” They snorted and tugged harshly, all but dragging Lance from the cell. He stumbled after them, barely able to keep his feet under him. His hands shook imperceptibly, his heart racing in his chest.

“Hey, so I know that where you’re taking me is probably super important, but could we stop for food on the way? Cuz I’m starving.” Lance sucked in a breath as the hand on his arm tightened, the bruising grip sending pain spiking down his arm. A few moments of silence stretched between them, Lance still struggling to follow his impromptu guide. “So…where  _are_  we going?”

“Arena,” the guard grunted, the single word sending ice through Lance’s veins. “You win, you get to eat. You lose, you die.” Lance’s eyes slowly widened, iron clamps encircling his lumps as the air thinned around him. His heart pounded harshly against his ribs, his face slowly paling.

Suddenly, he found he couldn’t speak at all.

* * *

The wall snicked shut as Lance stumbled through it, leaving him stranded with no escape. He turned back the moment he had control of his feet again, his eyes wide when he saw the entrance sealed off. Shiro’s face kept flickering through his thoughts, the scar carving across his nose seeming darker and more pronounced in his memories. Is that what awaited him? Shiro had been very closed lipped about his experiences and now Lance was cursing himself for not pushing him to talk more.

An announcer’s voice echoed through the whole stadium, the reverberations rumbling deep in his chest. Blue eyes searched the arena, finding the seats filled with Galra, all greedily staring down at him in anticipation. His breath rasped in his ears, his chest heaving and heavy with panic. Discarded weapons were thrown around the arena floor, half broken and stained. Right at his feet lay a knife about as long as his forearm, its edge coated with something dark. Lance didn’t want to think of what that was.

The roar from the crowd drew his attention to the side of the ring opposite him, watching as the wall slid open. His heart pounding, he could only stare as a large figure lumbered into the stadium, clad in an identical jumpsuit to his own. Arms swung by the figure’s sides, larger and longer than should be necessary. Their shoulders rolled forward, his knuckles nearly dragging along the ground. Lance swallowed harshly, his knees beginning to shake. Their eyes met and Lance couldn’t tear his gaze away, frozen in place.

Keith would be so ashamed of him right now…

Before he could prepare himself, a buzzer went off. The alien grinned gruesomely at him as they began to run towards him, slowly at first but gaining speed quickly. Lance lunged and grabbed the knife, rolling to the side as they barreled past him and right into the wall. Getting his feet back under him, Lance ran, not looking back. His feet scraped against the floor, his eyes glued to the pillar on the far side of the ring. If only he could make it…

Something smacked hard into his back, his body toppling forward and sending him careening into that same pillar. He hit it hard, his vision flickering out for a moment. Choking on the burst of blood that suddenly spilled into his mouth, he slowly got up, one of his hands wiping under his nose to stave off the flow. He spit to the side, his knife shaking as he slowly lifted it. His opponent stood before him, hands twined together and their arms already swinging by the time Lance was ready. A cry burst from Lance’s mouth when a fist collided with his side, a loud crack echoing around the arena. He collided hard with the floor, laying there completely stunned.

For a few moments, Lance was aware of only the ground, everything else fading into nonexistence. His vision was blurred and hazy, sliding in and out of focus. Pain throbbed through his whole body, blood dripping slowly from his nose. A shadow fell over him, but he couldn’t find it in him to run. A hand closed around his throat, lifting him slowly off the ground. His body was limp in their grasp, his head lolling backwards. The hand tightened its grip, Lance’s body tensing at once when his airway was cut off.

Lance didn’t make a noise, though his chest heaved for air that wasn’t there. Tears gathered in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks and diluting the blood there. His mouth was open as he struggled to breathe, to get air in, to  _survive_. His eyes were mere slits, watching the alien’s expression as they mercilessly choked the life from him. His vision was beginning to flicker, growing dimmer and dimmer by the moment.

This was it.

He was going to die.

Oh god, he was going to die.

This…this is so pathetic.

His grip tightened around the knife in his hand, vaguely surprised that he still had it. Wait…

No.

He refused to die here.

His arm shaking, he lifted the knife and thrust it forward with a choked grunt. A sickening squelch answered him, his arm lurching to a sudden halt. The grip around his neck suddenly loosened, Lance slipping through their grip. He toppled to the ground, rolling onto his hands and knees as he wheezed and coughed. His ears rang, his other senses beginning to filter back in as his oxygen was restored. A hand on his neck, he became aware of the stench of blood, his face coated in something hot and wet.

A thud shook the ground beside him, his head slowly lifting to look at the source. The alien lay beside him, the knife lodged deep in their throat. Panicked eyes stared back at him, blood streaming from the edges of the knife. A strained gurgling sound met his ears, tears pooling and slipping down the alien’s face. As Lance watched, the light faded from their eyes, a cold feeling washing over him. Nausea churned in his stomach, clawing at the back of his throat. Tears slipped down his cheeks, carving paths into the blood staining his face.

He…killed them.

They were dead…

Dead.

Because of him.

Lance was screaming before he could stop himself.

* * *

Lance’s hands fisted into his hair, his fingers tugging at the roots. He was curled into the corner of his little prison, his body still coated in drying blood. A tray of food lay uneaten and forgotten by the door. Silence blanketed the small room, broken only by his shuddering gasps as he struggled to breathe. His arms shook violently, tears pouring down his face.

He couldn’t do this… He’s not like Shiro. He…he can’t…

…

Someone…please…help him…

His head snapped up when the door creaked open, blue eyes wide and terrified. The guard only grinned at him, taking a single step closer. Lance pressed himself more against the wall, shaking his head. “N-no… No! I won’t go back out there! I refuse! Lance yelled, his voice trembling. Strands of brown hair were plastered to his face by a mixture of sweat and blood, not moving with each shake of his head. One of his eyes was blackened and swollen, barely able to open. The guard stopped, tilting their head to the side.

“You…refuse?” they asked.

“I refuse! I won’t fight anymore! Do whatever else to me, but I won’t kill anyone anymore!”

* * *

As Lance was strapped into place, he found he suddenly regretted his words. After all, there was several things they could do to him that could be worse than being made to fight. He tugged experimentally at his restraints, finding absolutely no give in the metal. So he released a slow breath and forced himself to relax, letting his body go limp in the bonds. Not like there was anything he could do about it right now anyway. He had no weapons.

The door slipped open with a quiet hiss, a hooded form entering alone. Cold eyes glinted at him from within the shadows of the cloak, her aura pulsing with crackling energy. Lance shivered at her presence, fear lodging in his throat. He followed her every move, worrying at the inside of his cheeks. The witch stopped in front of him, a thin smile twisting her features.

“So…I hear you’re refusing to fight, young paladin. I was letting you off easy by putting you in the arena, but it seems you’ve chosen this route instead,” Haggar mused, her voice a gravelly hiss. Lance swallowed harshly, refusing to speak. He wouldn’t let her get anything from him. No matter what. She studied him, frowning a little. “I had hoped you’d prove to be stronger than this, but it seems you’re the weakest paladin…the weakest link. You won’t last long here.”

Soft footsteps padded towards the console, Haggar’s hand lowering towards it. Lance couldn’t breathe, fear beginning to twist his stomach. “Prove me wrong, paladin,” she challenged, her hand flat against the console’s surface. Dark energy sparked from her fingertips, activating the devices in the room. All of them curled towards him at once. Lance only had a moment to take a breath before pain overtook his whole body, a harsh scream tearing from his lips. His hands clenched into tight fists, his head thrown back against the wall.

He would not give in.

He would not give in.

He would…

* * *

He lasted longer than he had expected.

The pain came in agonizing waves, only minutes of blissful relief between each one before it began anew. He lost track of time, instead tracking by how many breaths lasted between each lapse of the torture. Tears soaked his face, but he wasn’t even sure what he was crying about anymore. Bruises littered his skin, painting a portrait with splotches of blacks and blues. The pain was relentless, continuing on and on until he lost track of himself entirely.

He screamed.

He begged.

He  _babbled_.

After a while, he noticed that he wasn’t even speaking English.

* * *

It didn’t stop.

Oh god…he was still here?

A broken sob jostled his body, the first noise he’d made in hours…he thought. How long had he been in here? Minutes? Hours? Days? His voice had long since gone hoarse, his throat torn and bleeding from the strength of his cries. After that single noise, his body went still, hanging limply on the wall. His head lolled against his chest, eyes barely open and staring blankly at the floor.

He gave in, unable to hold out anymore against the pain. It overwhelmed him quickly, washing through his mind in strong pulses.

Soon, he didn’t feel much of anything anymore, something deep inside snapping.

It was better this way.

* * *

It took everything Shiro had not to punch the guards holding him. But he contained himself, his expression smooth and unreadable. Their plan had gone a little…awry…but they could still work with this, given that nothing else went wrong. Keeping pace with the guards, Shiro cleared his throat. “So…who am I fighting?” he questioned.

One of the guards grinned but gave no response. That was…somehow worse than an actual response. Shiro shook his head, but continued walking. He wouldn’t let this stop him. Not while he had a mission that needed completing; a comrade that needed saving. Lance had been in here for too long. He wouldn’t stay here any longer, not so long as he had a say about it.

When they reached the entrance of the ring, Shiro didn’t even hesitate walking inside. The cheers rose around him instantly, spectators clearly excited about his return. Their enthusiasm churned his stomach, his lips twitching into a subtle frown. His body twitched and tensed, already reacting to the situation he found himself in. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, forcing his emotions back.

The other entrance opened, drawing Shiro’s eyes.

No.  _No_! It couldn’t be…

But it was…

Lance walked into the ring slowly, his movements almost mechanical. His complexion was sallow and splotchy with heavy bruising. Dried blood was flaking off around his face, some of it matting his hair. His nose was crooked, both eyes bruised heavily.

And his eyes…

God, what did they do to him?

Shiro shivered, his lips pressing into a thin line. They wanted him to fight Lance. Lance! The person he’d come here to save. Shiro took another deep, steadying breath as the buzzer sounded, his body tensing once more. He knew what needed to be done here. But he refused to hurt Lance to do it. Those Galra bastards be damned.

Walking forward slowly, he raised both hands as a sign of truce, keeping his eyes on Lance. They met in the center of the ring, Shiro’s expression softening. “Lance…Lance, it’s me, Shiro. You don’t have to fight,” he called quietly, a small smile on his face. “We can get out of here…together. What do you say?” Lance blinked slowly at him, his expression completely empty of recognition. Shiro’s heart clenched in his chest, something akin to desperation rising in him. He needed to get Lance out of here…

Lance bent down to pick something up before rushing at Shiro. Shiro only had a moment to sidestep, the knife slicing off the tips of his bangs. Cursing, Shiro backed up, trying to keep his distance. “Lance, it’s me!” Moving to the side once more, he dodged Lance’s swing. His robotic arm grabbed Lance’s wrist firmly, keeping the boy in place. “Lance, you don’t have to fight! I won’t hurt you. Please, drop the knife.” Water dripped onto his arm, rolling down into the joint of his elbow. Shiro looked up slowly, his expression breaking for a fraction of a second.

Lance was crying.

His grip loosened enough for Lance to break free. 

Lance swung at him, the knife catching his shoulder. Shiro hissed and backed away, his hand clamping around the freely bleeding injury. Crimson welled between his fingers, staining his palm. Pain throbbed dully beneath his touch, but he paid it no mind, his focus instead on Lance. He began to circle around him, his body tense and at the ready.

He only had one choice…

When Lance came at him again, he moved with the flow of his attack and struck at Lance’s unprotected back, forcing the boy to the ground. Planting a food between the boy’s shoulder blades, he pinned him in place. Minimal injury for maximum effect. Hopefully this would get through to him. If not…he wasn’t sure what to do…

“Lance, I don’t want to fight you. Drop the knife. Everything’s okay now… I promise,” Shiro said soothingly. “I’m not letting you up until you drop the knife. Please, Lance.” Silence fell over the whole arena, even the spectators waiting with baited breath to see what would happen next. Lance’s chest heaved beneath his boot and Shiro could hear each rasping breath from here. But he wouldn’t give in.

Lance’s grip loosened on the knife, letting it’s hilt fall from his hand. Shiro let out a quiet breath, a small smile drawing across his face. He took his foot from Lance’s back, stepping to the side. “Thank you, Lance. Now, let’s -whoa!” Shiro was cut off when Lance surged up and tackled him, sending them both toppling to the ground. The breath was forced from his lungs, stars dancing in his eyes as his head smacked hard against the floor. When his vision cleared, he stared up at Lance, who was breathing heavily over him, his knees planted at Shiro’s sides.

His blue eyes, normally so bright and expressive, were hollow and cracked, devoid of anything that made Lance, Lance.

“Lance…” Shiro breathed, unable to fight back as Lance seized the knife once more. He let his head fall to the side, his eyes slipping shut. He didn’t want to watch. He refused to watch. He heard the whistle of the blade, his body tensing. Suddenly, it stopped, its tip pricking at Shiro’s throat. Shiro’s eyes blinked open, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Finally, Lance spoke, his voice a torn, broken mess.

“…Shiro…?”


End file.
